Bruise
by braille upon my skin
Summary: And, if they've ever noticed him walking with a slight limp, or a dark-colored blotch on his jaw, they've never brought it up. Troy Bolton, however…


_"Where did you get that bruise?"_

xXx

He's usually better at hiding the repercussions of his audacity to stand out. He can conceal the bruises on his abdomen with his dress shirts, his sweaters, his vests, by not letting anyone see him shirtless, by pretending that the splotches of discolored skin don't exist, and ignoring the pain that races along the length of his torso when he dances.

Before, no one would have noticed if the concealer smudged and revealed shades of purple, blue, yellow, and green on his pallid face, aside from his sister, of course. She wanted to take action against the people responsible. No one hurts an Evans and gets away with it. She was always quick to lend him more concealer, or silently tip him off that a bruise on his wrist or shin was visible.

These days, however, they've been seeing less of each other, since Ryan became friends with a certain brunette basketball player, and Sharpay started attending parties with members of East High's football team. The particular guys that she can be found on the arm of and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at aren't the ones responsible for giving Ryan his bruises, so he tries his best to not view this as a sort of betrayal. But, her absence still stings, even slightly.

Kelsi and Martha, while friendly fellow music lovers, and fairly easy to talk to, aren't really the sort to have heart-to-hearts with. And, if they've ever noticed him walking with a slight limp, or a dark-colored blotch on his jaw, they've never brought it up.

Troy Bolton, however…

He takes Ryan aside, one day, after free period rehearsals for the spring musical. His ocean blue eyes are darkened, and his distinct brows knit with concern. "Are you okay?" He asks softly.

"I'm fine," Ryan replies. As unbelievable as it still seems to him, he and Troy Bolton are _friends_ , but he hesitates to unload his problems on the captivating athlete. Troy has a full plate, as it is, juggling college applications, finals, issues with the engine in his hand-me-down Ford pickup, the fast approaching future, pressure from his father and his friends among his compatriots on the basketball team to attend U of A, the lead role in the musical, a relationship with a girl who just up and moved one thousand miles away without so much as a "goodbye", or a "kiss my ass"…

He doesn't need to be worried about Ryan Evans's problems, too.

"You don't _look_ fine," Troy says. His eyes flit over Ryan's face before he brings his thumb up and ever so lightly brushes it against the stretch of skin near the corner of the blond's mouth.

Ryan tries to fight it, but he can't suppress his reflexive wince at the contact. Not around Troy. He can't _lie_ around _him_.

"Who did that to you?" Troy just breathes out.

"Tyrese Wilson." Ryan's eyes meet Troy's as he speaks, and he feels his breath hitch in his throat as he watches Troy's pupils narrow, his brows drop into a scowl, his nostrils flare. Ryan can still feel the tall football player's knuckles slamming into his face, and his heart begins to race at the mental image of Troy seeking Tyrese out to confront him, and being met with a blow to some region of his body. "But, hey," he says easily. Or, _aims_ for easily. Try as he might, he chokes on the words, a bit. "I'm used to it. It's nothing, _really_."

"Someone hurt you for no reason. That's _something_ , Ryan. And it's _wrong_." Troy thinks with his heart. It's a quality that Ryan has always admired about the brunette athlete. Unfortunately, allowing one's heart to do the thinking doesn't always result in a rational course of action.

Ryan scrambles for the words to dissuade Troy, to keep him from getting hurt. "We'll be graduating in a week. By the time that's over, nothing that any of these people, the Tyrese Wilsons, the Nick Butlers," he thinks of the blond quarterback who was suspended for a week for defacing a poster of Troy proudly displayed in the school hallway after Troy lead his teammates to back-to-back state champ status in his final game at East High, "even…"

Troy is hanging intently onto Ryan's every word.

An image flashes into Ryan's mind of the same breathtakingly captivating Troy Bolton, sans any of his liveliness, nearly catatonic with melancholy in Gabriella's absence, after one of their fights, after she abandoned Troy, and his chest tightens with a sudden spark of fury. Or maybe it's closer to courage. Suddenly, he isn't just trying to dissuade Troy, anymore. "Even the Gabriella Montezes… nothing they did to us will matter. We'll be moving on to bigger and better things. We'll be _free_."

A tiny sliver of a smile plays on Troy's lips. His eyes- entrancing, the deep, clear blue of the ocean- however, are misty, troubled. "Have you ever thought that maybe, you don't want to have to wait to be free?"

Before Ryan can formulate a response, Troy's finger is curled beneath his chin, gently tilting it forward, up, and Troy's lips, full and soft as Ryan always imagined they would be, are pressing against his. Without hesitation, Ryan melts into the kiss, wanting to touch, to feel, as much of Troy as he can. To be certain this isn't some sort of cruel hallucination. His fingers find their way to Troy's hair, and tangle themselves in the former basketball player's silky brunette tresses.

The kiss is fleeting, but Ryan can still taste Troy as they break off. Feel Troy's warmth. Troy's strength. The texture of Troy's hair against the pads of his fingers. _Troy_. He's dazed and breathless, like he just danced a complex ballet routine.

Troy's sun-kissed face is flushed, the pink even covering the faint freckles that dot his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The storm in his eyes has dissipated. "We can be free _right now_ ," he says, his eyes glowing. Pleading.

It's like someone has breathed life back into Troy, and Ryan is determined to keep it there. "Yes we can," Ryan agrees, answering the unspoken question in Troy's words and in his eyes. His face still stings, and he's sure that there will still be a mark that he'll have to cover up for the school musical, but he leans in and places a feather-light kiss on Troy's cheek, then clasps Troy's hand, interlacing his fingers with the taller boy's.

Ryan remembers the song that Troy and Gabriella sang for their callback audition for _Twinkle Towne_ , the winter musical of their junior year.

 _But your faith,_

 _It gives me strength_

 _Strength to believe,_ he starts, sotto voce, his voice melodious.

"We're breaking free," Troy finishes. This time, his smile is genuine, it reaches his eyes, and Ryan returns it whole-heartedly.

xXx

The next day, when Ryan shows up to school, he spies Troy at his locker. The brunette former athlete looks up, his face breaking into a grin as he spots the blond. "Hey."

"Hey." Ryan smiles right back. Until he notices the bruises and broken skin on Troy's knuckles. "What- Troy, what happened? Are you okay?" He scans Troy's hands, neck, torso, face, searching for any other signs of injury.

"I'm fine. _Promise,_ " Troy assures him with an easy smile. His eyes glimmer with sincerity, and Ryan feels the miniature panic attack onsetting in his chest, tearing at it, subside. Troy moves in and drapes his arm across Ryan's backside. "As for how this happened," he wiggles the fingers on his injured hand, and noticeably stifles a grimace, "let's just say that Tyrese Wilson won't be causing anymore problems for you. Or, for anyone else."

Ryan is stricken. He simultaneously wants to squeal and embrace Troy in the middle of the red and white tiled hallway. He's never had anyone, other than Sharpay, who was willing to fight for him before. No one has ever tried to be his hero. However, he also wants to leniently scold Troy for trying to be his hero, for risking his own personal safety, and his future education, by getting into an altercation with a football player whose life is destined for mediocrity, after graduation.

As Ryan probes his brain for his next sentence, he feels a presence looming just behind himself and Troy. With a shiver creeping up his spine, turns to meet the eyes of Fox Hudson, the burly football player who sometimes pulls up in his vintage, rickety old car that could give Troy's pickup a run for its money in terms of dilapidation, and spirits Sharpay away to heaven only knows where.

Fox's hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy blue jeans.

Ryan swallows involuntarily as the memory of those concealed hands shoving him into a locker, during sophomore year, resurfaces. He has every intention of speedily averting his eyes to the floor, to Troy, to anywhere but Fox, until he notes the beginnings of a bruise on the football player's face.

Right then, it all comes together, the pieces clicking smoothly into place. One of Ryan's heroes may have had a selfish, ulterior motive behind his heroic behavior, but perhaps it's enough to redeem him, _slightly_ , in Ryan's eyes.

"Bolton," Fox says curtly, directing a nod at Troy.

Troy waves back while also moving in closer to Ryan, a gesture that Ryan appreciates.

"Evans."

Ryan manages a small smile, hoping to convey his gratitude, even as his flight or fight instincts kick in and set his heart pounding. "Erm, thanks."

It's so low that Ryan's ears almost miss it, but Fox mumbles, "Sure," before continuing to amble along, probably on his way to find Sharpay, and receive a "reward" for his bravery.

As Ryan and Troy make their way to homeroom, matching each other stride for stride, Ryan takes in the cuts on Troy's hand out of the corner of his eye. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know," Troy says simply. His hand comes up to give Ryan's shoulder a squeeze, and any lingering unease from Fox's sudden appearance, and from Tyrese's assault, the previous day, vanishes completely.

Ryan's heart swells with love so fierce, he has to bite down on his lip to contain it. "I hope you cleaned those nicks," he says, partially teasing, mostly genuinely concerned.

Instead of offering a confirmation, Troy laughs softly, and presses his nose to Ryan's temple.

There's no rebellion in the form of outsiders from the locker room and the science lab auditioning for the leads in the school musical, no loud declaration of independence. But as they make their way through the remaining school days, the rehearsals, the exams, and end their nights cuddled close to each other, it's audible in every beat of their hearts, tangible in every touch, visible in their eyes.

Ryan Evans and Troy Bolton have broken _free_.

And their bruises, external as well as internal, are their battle scars.

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A/N: The idea for this story came from a prompt on the Tumblr blog, writeworld, where the objective was to, "Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence". That sentence being, of course, "Where did you get that bruise?"

 **As always, I have absolutely ownership claims to anything recognizable. The** _ **High School Musical**_ **characters are the © of Disney and Peter Barsocchini, and Fox Hudson belongs to my dear friend, Ellie, who goes by the monniker of queenofkoneyisland, on Tumblr, and CluelessQueen, here.**

I hope you found something to enjoy in this little story, my dear readers. I will get back to working on the fourth installment of _Parachute_ , and try to have it up for you, as soon as possible.

Until then, take care.


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